


Since 2011

by celebel



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: Angst, Awkwardness, Drunk Sex, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 04:57:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13756785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celebel/pseuds/celebel
Summary: Last night, they'd celebrated winning the Ashes back from England.   Last night, the feelings Mitch had been bottling up since their first tour together to South Africa bubbled over, alongside more than just a few celebratory drinks.  Last night, things happened between them. Can he solve the mistakes he's made the day after?





	Since 2011

**Author's Note:**

> Alternatively titled "Steve Smith and the rest of the squad are a bit too invested in their teammates' love lives and the author should really get some coffee or sleep either one is good :P".
> 
> Finally posting this which has been sitting in my WIPs since late December/early January. Still not fully satisfied with it but I'm gonna bite the bullet and hit the post button and hope for the best. Hope you guys like it :)

"Now, listen here, you-"

"Mitch, no, it's fine-"

"I'm sorry, sir, but we really can't do anything about it at the moment-"

"'Can't do anything about it at the moment' my ass. We've got a game in a week and I'm not spending all that time in a room with someone else in earshot of hearing me-"

"Mitch." A firm hand on his shoulder stops the words from tumbling out of his mouth. Mitch turns to Steve, beaming like a picture-perfect schoolboy with his stupid blond hair and blue eyes, at the annoyingly calm, practically bored receptionist, who made it seem as if annoyed cricketers were something she dealt with every other day of the week. "So sorry for all the trouble, miss. We'll find a way to deal, won't we, Mitchell?"

Despite standing a good half-head shorter than Mitch, the hand on his shoulder which tightens to the point of it almost being painful and the stiff smile Steve gives him with eyes saying he's up for a major asswhooping if he doesn't comply, makes him feel like a small child being reprimanded by his mother in public.

"Yes, Steve," Mitch mumbles, determinately staring at his feet, scuffing them into the red carpeting to resist the temptation to roll his eyes, if only not to look like a petulant child. Steve flashes another brilliant smile at the lady behind the counter and scoops up the key cards, hastily thanking her and all but dragging Mitch away. It takes all he has in him not to shoot a glare over his shoulder and stick his tongue out.

Once they make it back to the rest of the team, all in them in various stages of boredom, lazing around on the hotel lobby furniture, Steve leans over and whacks Mitch on the back of the head. Hard.

"Ow," he whines, rubbing the sore spot and glaring at his captain. "What the hell was that for?"

"Making a fucking scene when I explicitly said not to just now on the bus when I explained the whole damn situation." Steve matches his glare, piercing eyes narrowing dangerously. This time, Mitch does roll his eyes with a scoff. He tells himself it's because Steve is being totally unreasonable and not because he needed to look away.

"She was essentially telling us that the hotel gave away one of our rooms, _my_ room, for that matter, to someone else just because they paid more than we did. Now, we’re one room short and have to reshuffle all the sleeping arrangements. Fucking perfect."

"Yes, I know what she said, but it's not even her fault and you shouldn't be taking it out on her," Steve hisses before noticing all their teammates and various other hotel guests in the lobby with them have gone silent, trying their best not to let on that they're eavesdropping. Except their best isn't all that good and with a delay of a few seconds after Steve stops talking and looks around, all gazes are immediately redirected and forced, idle chatter returns. Mitch wants to point out that Uzzy doesn't even have children when Starcy asks how the kids are going, but Steve brings his attention back to the matter at hand, huffing and running a hand through his hair, disheveled from their three-and-a-half-hour flight from Perth to Melbourne. He thumbs through the key cards they were given, silently counting them even though he knows they are one short. "Oh well, looks like two of us here are going to have to share a room with each other."

Loud calls of 'dibs not' immediately echo throughout the squad before a discombobulated Mitch can even react. He whips around confused at all of his grinning teammates before his gaze falls back on Steve, whose lips are already curling into a smirk.

"Dibs not," Steve says quickly before Mitch can. All of them laugh as Mitch lets out a loud groan.

"Don't mind too much, Mitchy," Dave says, coming up to sling a friendly arm around his shoulders. Normally, he would make a snide comment at how Dave has to stand on the tips of his toes to be able to even reach his shoulders, but right now, he's way too pissed. "Now, who's the lucky boy who gets to room with this sexy beast?"

With the last part practically shouted loud enough for everyone in the hotel to hear, all the boys turn to Pat, who up until then, had been sitting on his suitcase towards the back of the group, too far to have heard anything Steve had said, headphones in, drumming an erratic rhythm on his knees with idle hands and mouthing the lyrics of one of those inane pop songs which he had been trying to impose on Mitch since he’d joined the squad. Up until recently, that is, but that’s not the point right now. It takes a second for him to realise everyone's eyes are on him and a red flush spreads across his cheeks. He hastily pushes his headphones off his ears.

"I'm sorry, what's going on?" he asks with wide, confused eyes. Everyone laughs and his blush deepens. Mitch looks away, feeling a blush of his own rising. He can't help it, Pat just looks really cute like that, teeth worrying at his bottom lip, cheeks red and floppy brown hair falling into blue eyes. A small scene reminiscent of what happened between them in Perth-

"You're rooming with Mitch for this test, mate," Steve says, biting back his own giggles. Pat's eyes widen comically much to everyone's amusement as he looks around frantically.

"What? N-no!" he stutters. "I'll swap with anyone! Joshy? Starcy?"

His fellow fast bowlers only shake their heads with annoying, shit-eating grins.

"Sorry, Patty," Josh says. "No can do."

"Surely there's someone who's willing to swap!" he cries, appealing to all the other boys. Mitch tries not to feel hurt at that, but then again, Pat has reason to feel the way he does about him currently.

"What's wrong with rooming with Mitch anyway?" Tim says, removing the Zooper Dooper from his lips (Mitch swears he has an unlimited supply of those. If he's not batting or behind the stumps, there's a solid ninety-five percent chance he's got one in his mouth. Where does he even find the time to get them in between training sessions? How does he even keep them frozen? Oh well, chuck those on the pile of life's unsolvable mysteries, right after how on Earth Cam managed to grow a head heavier than Mitch's own) and pointing it accusingly at Pat who somehow manages to blush even more when Tim wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. "You two have always been real cozy with each other on tours."

"Nothing's going on! It's just..." he trails off, gaze slipping back down to his shoes. Tim simply leans back on the plush hotel sofa, Zooper Dooper back between his smiling lips and arms folded triumphantly across his chest. He high-fives the offered hand from Cam without even looking at it. Smug bastard.

"Whatever, you lads are fucking impossible," Mitch huffs and storms over to Steve, grabbing the key card which he had been dangling teasingly from his fingers. He turns on his heel, dragging his luggage behind him to the nearest elevator. He hears muffled snorts of laughter and shuffling as the boys make room for Pat to get through and pointedly ignores the wolf-whistles.

"Well then, you boys have fun then!" He hears Gaz yell and picks up his pace when cheers go up from loud call of 'Nice, Garry!' (from Shaun he thinks, that traitor of a brother), ignoring the heat in his cheeks and the loud thudding in his chest.

Mitch rounds the corner, stopping in front of the elevators. He punches the 'up' button with perhaps, a bit more force than necessary. Pat comes to a stop beside him and Mitch does not look at him. He hears Pat's uncomfortable shuffling and fidgeting which grows louder by the second as the elevator takes an age to arrive. Mitch growls and pushes the button a few more times. Pat gives a strained laugh.

"You do know that's not going to make it arrive quicker, right?"

Mitch grunts and shrugs noncommittally, not trusting his voice enough to say anything without sounding absolutely strangled. He feels a small pang in his chest when out of the corner of his eye, he sees Pat's small smile fall as he looks back down at his shoes. He opens his mouth to say something but at that moment, a loud ding pierces the awkward silence and the doors open.

They both step through and thank _God_ there are other people getting into the elevator with them. At least the awkward silence all the way up to the second highest floor of the hotel won't be between just the two of them. 

The door begins sliding shut but at the last second, a hand wedges itself into the gap and a mother and her loud, snotty son enter. He, no, it's more an _it_ than anything, makes various noises as it smashes two action figures in the air together, a cacophony of shrieks, growls and yells Mitch isn't even sure human vocal chords should be able to make. This occupies its attention for all of two seconds before it drops them on the floor and decides that pressing every single button in the elevator is a good idea.

The mother barely offers an apology as she tries to reign her offspring back in, but to no avail, and it successfully achieves in lighting up all the buttons for every single floor.

"For fuck's sake," Mitch mumbles under his breath, but it's lost under the mechanical whirring and too-cheerful ding as the doors slide open on the first floor.

The good news is that mother and son both get out on the third floor, giving Mitch's ears a much-needed break from the noise. He nearly cries a loud 'hallelujah' once the doors click shut and the elevator begins moving again. The bad news, however, is that everyone else in with them decides that they would much rather walk up the stairs to their rooms than spend ten minutes stuck in a cramped space with half a dozen other people. By the time the elevator leaves the sixth floor, it's only him and Pat left in uncomfortable silence with the gentle plink-plonk of the sickeningly happy elevator music in the background.

Mitch leans back against the back of the elevator and closes his eyes, the exhaustion from the past five days plus the flight finally setting in. He feels his arms go limp and his bags fall to the floor with dull thuds which rock the elevator slightly. Pat, who had probably been preoccupied with his own thoughts, lets out a surprised sound which Mitch does not smile fondly at. Slowly, he slides down the wall, wedging his back into the tight corner of the elevator once he’s sitting and stretching his long legs across the floor.

"Mitch?" He hears Pat's voice, yet he can't see his expression, his eyes still being closed. Without his vision, he can clearly hear the wariness, the apprehension his tone. He bites his tongue to ignore the small twist in his heart, knowing he's the reason all this tension between them is present.

"Hmm?"

"What are you doing?" At that, he cracks open his eyes, making a show of looking around him before looking at Pat. His breath hitches once he stares into those blue eyes and for a split second, he's back in South Africa in 2011, lost in azure depths he's seen for the first time which even in the current day, still hold him just as entranced with their brilliance. He remembers the two young debutantes they had been, with all their shy giggles and shoulder bumps in the change rooms, bonding over the fact that it was the first international tour for them both and they knew nobody else. He'd taken one look at the sparkling blue eyes, floppy brown hair and shy smile and knew he was gone.

"Well, you see, Patrick," he begins, hoping his momentary pause could be passed off as him being tired. "When a man such as me or you decides it's a good idea to acknowledge his national duty to play a dumb sport involving hitting a rock with a stick for five days, it tends to leave them a bit worn out, as is seen in Exhibit A." He points to himself.

"Maybe you're just getting a bit old," Pat says and Mitch hears more than sees the smile he has on his face, his eyelids drooping shut, only being kept alert by the annoying dinging noise which announces their arrival at the next floor every fifteen seconds or so.

"I'm only two years older than you," Mitch pouts. "And besides, you're barely doing any of the hitting." He knew it wasn't true, all of Pat's scores in the 40s and patient batting over the past three tests had done heaps to help Australia cement a their unassailable three-nil win over England, yet Mitch couldn't resist the jab.

"Sure, whatever you say, old man." Pat is full-on grinning at him now. Mitch feels his heart do a little leap in his chest. "Let's be honest, you can barely even keep up with a youngster like me anymore."

"Barely keep up? Please, I was keeping up just fine last night." The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them and almost immediately, he wants the floor to open up and swallow him.

They turn away from each other, Pat coughing awkwardly and Mitch turning scarlet. They hadn't talked about last night yet and neither one of them seemed too eager to either. 

Luckily, on the next floor, an old lady shuffles in and Mitch lets out a long breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. At least now they both have an excuse not to talk to each other.

Finally, they reach their floor and Mitch is out of the elevator like a bullet before the doors are even fully open. He doesn't check if Pat is there behind him as he bolts down the hallways, looking for the room number which matches the one on the key card.

He shoves the card into the slot in the door and can't help the loud sigh of relief which escapes him. He pushes the door open, ready to just dump all his gear in some corner and jump into the shower to avoid any further awkwardness when what he sees stops him dead in his tracks. There is only one bed in the room. Quite a large one for the record, but that isn't the point at the moment.

"Oh, what the hell?" he yells into the empty room. 

"What seems to be the problem- oh..." Pat seemingly materialised out of thin air at Mitch's side, startling him. As he struggled to compose himself after the momentary scare, Pat noted the issue in the room with a bashful lip bite and blush which Mitch does not find adorable.

"I can't believe this." Mitch storms into the room, flinging his bags into an empty corner. His suitcase hasn’t even stopped sliding across the polished wooden floor before he’s unzipping it and pulling out a change of clothes a bit aggressively. He stomps his way to the bathroom, calling out over his shoulder to Pat, who is attempting to settle in a much more composed manner. He's got his stuff piled up neatly at the foot of the bed and is looking for a place to charge his phone. Mitch guesses he's only looking for something to do just to avoid him as he's taking every opportunity to pointedly not look in his direction. "I'm going to take a shower to cool off, then I'm calling the reception to sort this shit out."

He's slamming the door behind him before Pat even has a chance to answer. He winces at the echoing bang. Maybe, he's overreacting a little. He wants things to go back to normal with Pat, right? He shouldn't be making such a big fuss then. Pat might think he's angry at him, for his own dumb mistake. He might be damaging their relationship irreparably if he hadn't already done so. Oh well, what's done is done. He scrubs his hands through his hair in frustration and places his hands on the sink, gripping the stone hard enough to turn his knuckles white. He glares at his reflection in the mirror. After he's done with his shower, he's going to go outside and apologise to Pat like a reasonable adult. Then they'll sort out the sleeping arrangements and then hopefully, everything will go back to normal. They'll go back to being bros, just like before.

 _But do you want everything to go back to normal?_ the small, annoying voice at the back of his head chips in. _After everything that happened last night?_

At that point, Mitch decides it's a good idea to step under the shower and blast ice cold water right at himself, if only to make the voice shut up. He'd acted purely out of self-interest last night. The feelings weren't reciprocal.

It takes him all of two seconds to realise he still has his travelling clothes on and that they're sopping wet now. He nearly screams in frustration. 

At least the voice in his head shut up for the moment.

***

Twenty minutes later, he emerges from his shower, feeling sufficiently less annoyed about life. Sorting through the change of clothes he brought into the bathroom with him, he realises that he's missing his shirt. He must've dropped it on the way. He can change in the room while Pat showers, he decides with a shrug, already opening the door back into their shared room, towel wrapped securely around his waist.

"Pat," he calls, stepping out of the bathroom, steam curling itself around his limbs. "Shower's free."

It takes him a moment to locate Pat in their big room. He's curled up on one side of the bed - left, a distant part of Mitch's brain notes, which is really convenient since he prefers the right - and reading a book. He looks small, childlike almost, with his back against the headboard, knees drawn up with a pillow at his chest. He gives a distracted nod without looking at Mitch, entranced by whatever is going on on the pages.

"Yeah, thanks, Mitch-" He looks up and freezes completely, mouth falling open in a small 'o' of surprise.

It takes him a moment to realise that Pat is staring at his chest and a moment more to realise exactly why Pat is staring at his chest.

Bruises left by Pat's mouth the night before, all varying shades of red and purple, mapped out across his collarbones and sternum, like the stars of a constellation across the pale skin of his chest, punctuated by the occasional meteor shower of a bite mark. Trailing lower, at the tops of his hips, grazing the top of the towel, are dark, finger-shaped marks. Scratches on his lower back are just visible from where they curl around his sides. He really must've been so distracted during his shower to have not noticed all of that.

"Um," Pat coughs, cheeks redder than Mitch has ever seen them. He hastily grabs his shirt from where he had dropped it on the floor and tugs it over his head. "I called the reception, they said they'd try to sort it out, get us one of those spare beds or something, but we're probably not going to get anything until tomorrow morning."

"Oh," Mitch says dumbly, unsure of what else to really say. He's too distracted trying to will away the burning heat in his face to think of anything else smarter to say than: "It's better than nothing."

"Yeah." Pat grabs the clothes he'd laid out on the bed and walks purposefully to the bathroom, using the space of their large room to walk around him in a wide arc. Mitch steels himself. It's gotta be now or never.

"Pat, wait," Mitch turns, facing Pat who's stopped in the doorway of the bathroom, clutching at the doorframe with one hand, knuckles white, as if it's the one thing holding him upright and keeping him from bolting into the bathroom and slamming the door shut, not unlike how Mitch had earlier. There is silence for a few seconds, Mitch searching for the words inside his head which slip away like water through his fingers. "I... No, _we_ need to talk about things."

"There's nothing to talk about, Mitch," Pat whispers. It's almost inaudible, yet the words make Mitch's blood freeze in his veins. "Last night happened and... It's okay if we choose not to continue this friendship anymore because of it. I'm sure if we explain the entire situation to Steve properly, he'll have to get someone else to room with either you or me up here."

"What? No, I still want to be friends." He winces. Even that sounded weak and unconvincing to his own ears. "I just want to talk over what happened, where we stand with all of this."

"You were drunk," Pat blurts, voice taking on an edge of desperation. "We were drunk... I was supposed to... Meant to... You..."

He gestured wildly with his hands, as if he could pull the words from the air before him.

"Pat, I-" _I'm sorry_ , he wants to say, but Pat cuts him off.

"I took advantage of you!" he yells, the words echoing in the ridiculously large room, leaving Mitch stunned. _What?_ That was probably the last thing he'd expected Pat to say, yet before he can comment, Pat continues. He'd stepped out of the doorway of the bathroom and was facing Mitch now, though not making any eye contact, eyes squeezed tightly shut, fists clenched tightly at his sides with his nails carving deep crescents in his palms. "You... After the party last night, Steve told me to take you back, make sure you were right for the flight in morning... Then you kissed me, and I couldn't help what happened from there. I can’t believe I left all those marks on you! It must’ve been terrible for you, it was all from the alcohol, but I should've known better! But I've been so utterly, completely in love with you that I couldn’t... I don’t know what I was thinking, maybe I thought that you felt the same way, but you don’t and even if you did, I’m sure you don’t now, not after all of that. I’m just so, so fucking sorry everything had to be this way…"

His words trail off and silence descends, only being broken by Pat's loud, ragged breathing. Eventually, he cracks his eyes open, looking warily up at Mitch.

"Mitch?" he croaks, voice hoarse. "Mitch, please, just say something. _Anything_."

"Pat, I..." He fumbles but eventually manages to find his voice. "I really don't know what to say, other than that was the last thing I'd expected you to say."

"W-what?" Now it's Pat's turn to stare at Mitch, completely stunned. He shakes his head in disbelief, eyes darting rapidly back and forth, as if he were a frightened animal looking for a way out. "How? It's what happened, though. No, it's not true, you were drunk, I shouldn't have-"

"But I wanted it." He crosses the distance between them, placing a firm hand on Pat's shoulder and tilting his head up with the other, forcing Pat to look up at him. He can see the fear, the shock, the small sliver of hope, framed by barely noticeable tears at the corner of his eyes. "I don't regret anything that happened last night besides the fact that our first time happened when we were both drunk. You didn’t misread anything."

"No, you're just saying that." Pat rips himself from Mitch, but before he has a chance to turn away, a firm hand closes itself around his wrist. He freezes but continues speaking anyway. "You don't have to say that if you don't want to be friends anymore. It'll make it all easier if you say how you really feel. Say the words and it’ll be easier on the both of us, easier for me."

"I still want to be friends, Pat. It's just... I thought I'd done something dumb last night and convinced you to do things you didn't want to do because you were pretty out of it as well. I thought I'd gone and damaged what we had irreparably." He bites his lip, looking away. All that sounded delightfully cheesy, like something out of one of those romantic TV dramas Mel enjoys so much. If Pat hadn't been put off last night, he probably was now. He has to admit he’s surprised (and relieved) when he feels the tension drain out of Pat's arm. He drops his grip, certain the other man isn't going to try to make a run for it anytime soon. "I want to have what we had still, maybe something more if you'll have me."

"You were really drunk," Pat says softly, though now he looks at Mitch with wide eyes, pleading for him to understand. "You don't know what you want, what you're saying. You're confusing yourself with all of this, all because I fucked up."

"What do I need to do to convince you that you didn't?" He makes an annoyed sound at the back of his throat and runs his hands through his hair, ruffling it forcefully. Suddenly, an idea springs to mind. He stares at Pat, expression unreadable.

"Mitch?" Pat asks, cocking his head to the side like he does when he's confused, not unlike a cute puppy. Mitch takes a step towards him and almost instinctively, he backs away, but finds himself pressed against a wall. His hands scrabble to find something to grip to on the smooth surface. "What are you doing?"

"Proving a point," Mitch says, and Pat opens his mouth to protest, but before he can, Mitch reaches towards him, placing his hands on his shoulders. After a split-second of hesitation, he presses their lips together.

Pat lets out a squeak and freezes, yet the pressure of a soft mouth against his makes all his other thoughts and emotions evaporate. The angle is slightly off, both their lips are dry and there is a doorstop on the wall pressing uncomfortably into his lower back, yet none of them would trade anything in the world for this single moment which ends all too quickly, before he even has a chance to kiss back, when Mitch pulls himself away.

"I'm sorry, did I read this all wrong-" He is cut off when Pat surges forward, throwing his arms around his neck and kissing him, wide smile against his own. He feels a hand edge itself to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the short strands there as a tongue presses at the seam of his lips, begging for entry. His own hands slip from their places at Pat's shoulders down to his hips, fingers edging themselves under his shirt to the smooth skin underneath. He lets out a small groan when he feels a nip at his bottom lip, and Pat is the one pulling away this time, yet the grin and dimples are undeniable.

"What idiots we are," he says, voice hoarse as he presses their foreheads together. "Here I was, thinking I fucked everything over for the both of us last night, and it turns out you were thinking the same thing while we were fine all along."

"Speak for yourself," Mitch murmurs, not looking at Pat's eyes, but rather his kiss-swollen lips, red and shining as Mitch raises his hand and swipes a thumb over them. "I totally had everything figured out."

"Don't let it get to your big head," he laughs and they both remain there for a few moments, simply enjoying being in each other's presence before Mitch's hazel eyes finally flick back up to his, dark and hungry.

"Kiss me," he says, already leaning in for more. "Please."

"Gladly." And Pat kisses him again. They take their time, relearning and exploring each other's mouths without the taste of the post-Ashes win euphoria and beer and champagne on their tongues, and it isn't long before Pat is reminded of the fact that Mitch still has just a towel slung low on his hips.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry." Mitch blushes and tries to put distance between him and Pat, even though he seems reluctant to break their kiss. "I'll go take care of this and..."

"It's alright, Mitch," he laughs and Mitch's face colours even more. He fixes Mitch with a heated gaze and arches a single eyebrow. His arms tighten around Mitch, letting him know he isn’t going anywhere. "You can go do that or we could take care of it together."

" _Jesus_ , Pat," Mitch huffs, trying to hide his face, yet the grin beneath his hands is unmissable. "Don't say that kind of stuff."

"Or what?" he comments mildly, trailing a hand down Mitch's clothed chest, letting it graze over the taut muscles of his chest to his abdomen and tease at the hem of his shirt. He gives a thoughtful hum at the shaky inhale he gets in response. "Actually, I think I much prefer you without your shirt, now that I think about it."

"That can be arranged," Mitch says, and the shirt is halfway off him before he's done saying that. Pat rolls his eyes and strolls leisurely to the bed, taking a seat and leaning back on his elbows. Mitch throws the shirt to the side and clambers atop the clean sheets, legs on either side of Pat's hips as he leans down to kiss him again.

"And for the record," Mitch says once they break apart. "I love the marks you leave on me."

"Oh?" There's a glimmer in Pat's eyes which only stokes the fire in his belly.

"Yeah, gives me something to remember you by."

"All this isn't enough for you?" Pat pouts. "I'm hurt, Mitchell."

Mitch responds with an eye-roll and quickly goes back to kissing Pat languidly. He feels fingers tugging at the knot of the towel around his waist.

"You know,' Pat begins, in the way that hints that nothing he's about to say will stop him from continuing whatever he's currently doing anyway. "Some of the boys were planning on heading out for a late lunch right about now."

"They can wait." Pat smirks as the towel falls to the floor. Mitch kisses him again, hands sliding under his shirt and pushing it over his head.

They can wait.

***

Later, as the Sun in Melbourne is just beginning to set, Pat scoots closer to Mitch atop the rumpled sheets, pressing himself to his side to rest his head on his shoulder. He closes his eyes, listening to their gentle breathing and the sounds of a city alive outside. 

"You know," Mitch breaks the comfortable silence in their room, but Pat can't bring himself to mind. "Just now you said you were in love with me."

"Was something that came out in the spur of the moment," Pat says. He slips his hands around Mitch's waist and buries his face in his chest to try to hide his blush, but he knows he doesn't succeed when he feels and hears the rumble of a laugh disrupting the gentle rise and fall of Mitch's chest.

"Was it, though?" Mitch says, lazily tracing patterns onto Pat's back, watching the shadows of his hands dance across the skin, bronze in the fading light and their sweat. "Was it really just that and nothing else?”

Pat shuffles a bit, Mitch making room for him. He places both his hands atop Mitch's chest, his heart, and rests his head on them.

"No," he says, momentarily looking like a shy schoolgirl confessing to her crush. Despite the calm look Mitch wears, he can feel the quickening heartbeat beneath his palms, in sync with the rapid thumps in his own chest. "I suppose not."

"Since when?" Mitch asks, the corner of his lips quirking upwards.

"I think it would've been back in BBL 03, around 2013, 2014," he says after a second of thought.

"Back when you were still a Scorcher," Mitch mumbles and pouts, which earns him a small poke to the nose from Pat, silencing him.

"Be quiet, I'm telling a story," Pat says, but can't help the laugh that escapes when Mitch sticks his tongue out at him. He takes a moment more to collect his thoughts before speaking again. "Actually, I think deep down, the feeling has been there for quite a while, developed over the course of the past six years. Though I don't think I really noticed it until that Big Bash season. That's when I realised I was truly gone and head-over-heels in love with my best friend."

Mitch's breath stutters but he doesn't say anything, and Pat continues talking.

"We'd won the semi-finals against the Sixers. Everyone was running in to the middle, hugs and shouting everywhere. I was just so happy that we'd won and made it to the finals and right then, I really didn't care who I was hugging. Then suddenly, there's some idiot grabbing at my shirt."

"Wonder who that was," Mitch comments, feigning innocence.

"It remains a mystery to this day, no matter how many times I watch that highlights video on the Cricket Australia site." At that, Mitch blushes which makes Pat giggle a little. "Anyway, all I know it that I looked over to my right and all I could see was you. You and your smile which was just... Just so happy and beautiful, and I wanted nothing more to do than to kiss you right then and there."

"Why didn't you?" Is all Mitch manages to say dumbly when Pat reaches forward and brushes a few wayward strands from his forehead, expression dreamy as he undoubtedly relives the moment in his mind.

"Didn't think you felt the same way back then," he says before moving himself further up the bed, so he can lean his forehead to Mitch's. Pat's breath ghosts tantalisingly over his lips and he can't help it when his gaze drifts downwards. "But obviously, I now know better."

They kiss lazily, their lips moving with each other's as the Sun continues to set outside. Mitch's hand comes up to cup Pat's jaw, thumb running over the smooth curve. Suddenly, the moment is disrupted when Mitch's stomach lets out a loud rumble.

"Not now," Mitch groans, flopping back onto the pillows. Pat snorts and stares down at him, expression warm and adoring.

"Best you go get some food then," he says. "Grab some for me as well, why don't you? We did skip lunch today."

"Can't we call for some room service or something?"

“Not sure I want the hotel staff peeking into the room and seeing the both of us covered in hickeys, in a shared bedroom of all places. Would be a bit awkward, don’t you think?" he asks with a raised eyebrow and Mitch can't really argue with that. "Be a bit less suspicious if they only saw one of us covered in hickeys down in the restaurant. That way they have no way of knowing who left those marks. Well, less of an idea, but I don't think too many of them know specifically that it's us rooming together. We’ll figure the entire situation out eventually, but for now, let’s try not to generate too much gossip."

"Yeah, but why can't you go and get the food for the both of us instead of me having to do it?" Mitch grumbles and playfully tugs on the messy brown strands dangling over his face. Pat bats his hand away lightly and promptly pulls a pillow out from under his head.

"Because I'm sleepy," Pat says with a yawn, dropping onto his stomach with the side of his face pressed into the pillow which he hugs to his chest. "And besides, this is your first step to becoming a good boyfriend."

"Rude," Mitch says with no real heat in the words, a fluttering feeling in his chest at the use of ‘boyfriend’. The sensation is unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. It’s almost… nice. It’s as if that single word has lifted a massive weight from his chest he didn’t even realise was there. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and begins fishing around for some clothes to wear. He turns the collar of his shirt up which does little to hide the marks dotted along his throat and jaw, but it’s better than nothing. "There'd better be something good waiting for me when I get back here."

"You know it, babe." Pat smiles and drops him a cheeky wink. Mitch leans over for a quick peck and ruffles his hair playfully. "We can also talk about when you fell in love with me so I have something to use against you as well.”

"Hmm, I'll think about it," he says, standing and slipping his thongs on. "You're lucky I love you so much."

"Feeling so blessed right now." Pat tugs the pillow closer to his chest and mumbles into it. Even with his features half-obscured, Mitch can see his eyes are already shut. He spares a look back at the bed as he’s halfway out the door, drinking in the scene of Pat with the sheets wound loosely around his body, scratches and bruises peppered across the expanse of his back which rises and falls in time with his slow breaths which indicate that he's probably fallen asleep. His dark hair, which almost seems to be a shimmering shade of dark gold in the evening Sun, fans out across the white pillow around his head like a halo.

As Mitch closes the door as quietly as he can behind him and goes down to the restaurant all the way on the ground floor, he can't help the fond smile which remains.

***

With a spring in his step, he makes his way to the hotel restaurant. He spots Shaun milling around outside, probably waiting for some of their other teammates. When Shaun sees him approaching, he breaks into a wide grin to match his.

"I see everything worked out in the end," he says, pulling Mitch in for a bear hug, eventually giving in to his brother's protests about being embarrassing in public where other people can see, and releasing him. "About time, don't you think?"

"Yeah, definitely," Mitch replies and they start walking. "It feels so surreal, like it's all just a really good dream that I don't want to end."

"Might want to thank Smudge for that," Shaun laughs, not noticing that Mitch has stopped in his tracks and is stuck a few paces behind him. "He's already gone in with everyone else while I was stuck waiting for you to see how everything went. He had the entire thing planned everything out, after all."

"Wait," Mitch starts slowly, realisation slowly beginning to seep in. "Steve planned everything? Like, everything everything? Even with the hotel?"

"Um, yeah. Everything everything." Shaun turns and fixes him with the 'are-you-really-that-dumb' look, one he has become quite acquainted with over the years. "When you and Pat went back together last night, we thought everything would be sorted, but no, you two were all awkward about it and avoiding each other which is not an improvement from being blissfully ignorant about all the sexual tension that has been going on since your first tour together _at all_. That's why Steve had to go make that 'emergency call' right before our flight, which he doesn't regret nearly missing, by the way. Look, this is a four, five-star hotel, Mitch, didn't you think it at least a bit suspicious that they gave up your room on a whim and also said that they'll sort out the sleeping arrangements 'tomorrow morning'?"

"No," Mitch admits, face burning much to Shaun’s amusement. His own captain played him so well and he fell for it completely. "And I'm assuming everyone else was in on it too?"

"Oh, Mitchell," Shaun says, shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter. "The teachers back at Wesley really weren't lying when they said you weren't the brightest."

At that, Mitch storms past him to the doors of the restaurant, Shaun's howling echoing throughout the entire building, only doubling in volume at his brother’s loud yell.

" ** _STEVE!_** "

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave a comment or some kudos :D
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr @somesunnyda-y


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